


hymns to dig graves to

by DragonNinjaAri



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demonic Possession, Gen, M/M, Possession, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-11
Updated: 2012-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-03 10:59:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/380653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonNinjaAri/pseuds/DragonNinjaAri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dealing with a possessed Dean Winchester should be much easier than it is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hymns to dig graves to

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written March 31st, 2011 as part of a fic-trade with tumblr user flashandthunderfire. Slight AU in which Dean doesn't have his possession tattoo. Set sometime between 4x16 and 4x20.

Moments before the butt of the rifle strikes the back of Sam's head, Castiel appears on the opposite side of the motel room. Moments after Sam has crashed to the floor, most definitely unconscious, Castiel has crossed to the creature in Dean's skin and nearly grabs its forehead in his grip.

The creature anticipates and steps aside, a knife not pointed at Castiel, but inward, at Dean's neck.

"Careful," the demon says, grinning through Dean's lips, though it is not Dean's face Castiel sees, but that of a creature who should not walk this Earth. He sees a monster's face where Dean's should be. "Don't want to get a scratch on Heaven's Champ, right?"

An angel could cure a wound like that. An angel could cure it and his superiors would strike. But Castiel cannot. "Leave this place," he growls, his right hand no longer outstretched but tense and at the ready. "Leave Dean Winchester."

The demon is leaning against the gun, which it has propped against the floor. "Angels. So very,  _very_  pushy. Always asking-- mm, no,  _demanding_  and offering nothing in return." It blows out a breath of hot air, eyebrows raised and full weight on the gun. "Even with the Righteous Man on the line! It is true what they say." Dean's lips settle into a friendly smile, the likes that Castiel has not truly seen. "It really is true what they say about angels. Cold as ice!"

If he could call Zachariah. No, if he could call Anna. Someone. Anyone. Distract the demon. Dean will not die, Heaven will not allow it. And yet Castiel does not want to move too hastily.

He does not want Dean to think, if he's awake inside that monster, that he would not try to save him first.

Yet the creature talks. It talks and uses Dean's tongue to wet its lips. Mocking. Teasing. "I am so surprised you're all this  _careless_. Didn't you keep that anti-demon thing on the boy when you plucked him up, all safe and sound?" Dean's tongue clicks and his head shakes. "Shame, shame. Made a mistake, didn't you?"

"I will not tell you again. Let him go." When will Sam wake up? Castiel needs backup. He thinks like a soldier, and he knows he cannot do this alone.

"Or what?" The demon grins again. (Dean has not smiled like that when Castiel has been around him.) "Gonna hit me with the big bad magic fingers?" It whistles low. "The things in this head. You sure  _this_  is the Winchester you want batting for you? I mean-- I think  _we_  got the winner. But this broken sonuva bitch--" A harsh, barking laugh, and as Dean's throat moves the knife nicks it, and Castiel's hand jerks in the smallest of ways. "He'd make the  _best_  little soldier of Hell."

And the monster's lips continue, "Maybe we should see if Lucifer can take him instead."

Castiel is fast enough, as it turns out. He is fast enough to cross the distance between them, slam the thing using Dean as a meat-suit to the wall, and raise his right hand, the knife keeping him from acting having fallen harmlessly to the carpet.

But it laughs, it laughs and laughs and chokes out -- his hand, is it clenched around Dean's throat? -- "Careful." Again. "Burn up me, burn up the prize."

His hand glows white, in a way that would not exorcise-- but kill.

Breath tinted with alcohol hisses, "Your boss wouldn't be pleased at all, torching his fleshbag." Castiel's grip tightens. No. No, he cannot keep talking, if there is a chance Dean can hear this-- "Does he know? Does he know what all of Heaven wants? Does he know that you're just like everyone in his life, just using him, just looking at him like a tool for your own--"

To a human, the light would be blinding. For a moment, he doesn't know if he burned the demon out or just sent it to Hell-- but then Dean coughs and chokes, his breath against his cheek (Jimmy's cheek) and Castiel's hand rips away, the blood from Dean's cut fresh on his palm.

"D-damn--" Dean coughs again, leaning against the wall for a moment-- and then pushing off it, to look over Sam. "Sam. Sammy, you okay? You--" He sighs; Sam will be fine. Even Castiel can see that. "I--" He's looking at Castiel, and it's only grateful. "Looks like you really saved my ass."

He didn't hear.

He doesn't know.

And Castiel? He can't bring himself to tell him.

They talk about a new anti-possession tattoo. He (Dean, Cas, both of them) won't get that lucky again.


End file.
